I carried it with my own hands —
a simple desk, bought for thirty euros.

It was scratched a little on the way,
just like me.
But it made it here.

Two young people helped me,
their laughter echoing through the stairwell,
and now it stands —
my desk, by the window.

Here, I can finally sit in silence.

Here, the sea breathes in the distance —
not close enough to touch,
but close enough to remind me that it exists.

Here, I feel something new beginning.

And I ask myself:
will anyone ever read these words?

Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someone, somewhere, will.

Because this space,
this window,
this sea —

they all whisper the same thing:

“You are allowed to begin again.”